“Pardon?”

“One of the best things about people like us, Max, is we get to meet all sorts of people while trying to complete our stories.” The mayor gave him a wink, but his eyelid was so aged it failed to return to being level with the other. “I managed to meet a magician on my trips to the capital to see the king. One that is a bit more powerful than your friend.”

Mentioning Cy made a few things click together in Max’s mind. Cy had placed a similar bet when he first heard about the villagers’ gamble. They had all called him crazy, even Max thought it was a stretch. Only one other person had placed a bet that the ninety-five-year-old mayor, who struggled to breathe at times, would make it to a hundred and twelve. An anonymous gambler, who only some of the village organisers knew the identity of. “You placed a bet on your own death?”

“Of course I did!” He said with glee. The topic clearly made him excited. “Who do you think started the bet?”

“… But why?”

“My story is over, but that doesn’t mean my life is done! I’m planning on having one of the most expensive and extravagant funerals in the country. I want a giant tomb, like the pyramids, and it needs to be filled with bits of art, and treasures, and jewels, and… You have been to a world with pyramids, right?”

“I was originally from a world with them.”

“Great! Then if you’re willing, it would be appreciated if you could look over the design process. I’ve got a couple of magicians lined up to make it for me, but it’s been hard to explain to those buffoons what a pyramid is. They just can’t picture something so big. Heck, I’ll even help you complete your current story. What kind of tale have you started? What’s the goal?”

“Not interested. And I’m not starting a story this time.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’m not starting a story.” His cake had been completely picked apart by the fork in his right hand. Max’s fidgety concentration transferred over to under the table where his left hand held a pocketknife. Mahogany was hard to carve, but it was more consistent than other wood. It was good for runes.

“… Why? How? Is that even possible?” The mayor seemed to be completely perplexed by Max’s declaration.

“Completing a one-star doesn’t change anything. Neither does completing a five-star. So maybe not playing along with the system for a long time will make something change. Afterall, the only time I notice a difference in tone with the system is when it encourages us to guide people who are new to the system and not locked into a story yet.” Max revealed his decision making. He had decided in his previous life that this was the path he was going to take when he inevitably woke up again in a new body. “I plan on having a simple life working on Bessie’s farm for as long as I can. If nothing interesting happens then I’ll quickly do a two and four-star. Perhaps completing the set will make things change.”

“’Quickly do a four-star.’” The mayor seemed lost by those words. “Did you get a prompt for the most recent amnesiac? I never noticed it was sometimes different when interacting with people like us. What exactly did the system say?” His words confirmed his story was indeed over. The prompts disappeared when a person’s story starts. Then the HUD vanished as well once the story was completed. The only time the world looked normal was when everything was over.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“The goal was to ‘Help the system out and show him the ropes.’ It was the goal for two separate prompts, one where I help him and the other where I make his life miserable.”

The mayor scrunched his eyebrows together as he finally noticed the mess Max had made and handed his slice of cake over to him. “Too sweet for my teeth,” he murmured, still clearly in thought. Max silently accepted as his gaze travelled back over to the mural next to them. It was slightly getting on his nerves. The craftsmanship was almost disrespectful. Finally, it seemed to dawn on the mayor. “It referred to itself.”

Max nodded to confirm it was the correct conclusion. “It’s the only time it acknowledges itself. I want to know what happens when you don’t play along with it. Will it get more desperate and increase the prompts? Will it set more contrasting ways to start? Or will it start alerting others like us that I haven’t started a story?”

“The amnesiac mentioned the system directing him to you,” the mayor recalled. “That reminds me. While I’m glad you shut him up before he could reveal too much about us, you could’ve just taken care of him privately instead of murdering him in front of the entire village.”

“I lost my temper,” Max admitted. “The system was trying to box me in by starting a story. It got to me.”

“He was also an intolerable prick.” The mayor added, seemingly fully understanding his change of behaviour. “I wish you the best of luck with that. These old bones may not be able to do much, but let me know if I can help you. Especially if another one like us shows up. Ah, speaking of which, what about that new mate of yours? Is he one of us?”

“Cy? No, I don’t think so.” It had crossed his mind when they first met, but aside from being able to see fates there was no reason to suspect he had multiple lives. “Although, he does seem to be able to identify people who haven’t chosen a story yet. He called both that amnesiac and I ‘fate-less.’”

“Fate-less, huh? What about my fate? Did he mention anything?”

Now that the mayor brought it up, it made him curious. He could clearly see the mayor’s death date, but was there a difference between them and the other people of this world once their path had been selected? “He hasn’t, but he has been avoiding crossing paths with you and Noah. I’m guessing it’s to do with that,” Max pointed at the giant mural.

Once realisation stuck him, the decrepit mayor lost himself to laughter again before struggling to breathe for a few seconds. “I guess it would give him the jitters. He’s been on you like glue. For a while, I thought he would come with you or show up at some point, but I guess that explains his absence.”

“It’s been a relief to get a break from him.” Max admitted. “But Noah seems to have taken a liking to the symbols from different worlds,” he nodded at the dragon in front of them. The mayor raised his left bushy eyebrow slightly. “He’s been replicating some of your commissions. You might want to put a stop to that before he gets into serious trouble. If other mages like Cy notice a magic neutralisation symbol, then they might come and arrest him. Or whatever they do in this world.”

“Interrogate, possibly torture, and definitely execute.” The mayor let out a deep sigh, but his expression showed his gratitude towards Max’s concern. “The prat of a king has a chokehold over magic users. Anyone not identified as a potential user as a child or was ‘introduced’ to magic by him or his high-end users is seen as a threat.”

“So, you were ‘introduced.’”

“I was, during my story. The symbol may not have come from this world, but at least I have permission to use spells. I’ve got almost no magic in this body, so I had to rely on runes since they use other sources of power.”

Max gave a knowing smile. “I better get going.” He stood up, leaving one slice of cake destroyed and the other untouched. He leisurely strolled over to the mural. “By the way, the symbol isn’t quite right. This curve should be a little sharper, and these lines are too thick.” His finger pointed at the little inaccuracies as he listed flaw after flaw.

Once Max was finished, the decrepit mayor seemed perplexed. “I see you’re quite familiar with this spell.”

“…I’ve seen it before.”